Page 11 of A Quick Pit Stop

“Now,” he says, “unzip my pants.”

It’s a clumsy one-handed operation with his grip still on my throat. My fingers fumble with the button, the zipper. Finally, it gives. The denim falls open. His boxer briefs are stretched tight, the thick outline of him pressing against the cotton. A dark wet spot right at the tip. My mouth waters.

“Pull it out.”

I reach inside. The fabric is warm and damp. I wrap my fingers around his shaft and feel him pulse against my palm as I pull him free. There it is again. That perfect fucking cock, the head swollen and leaking, veins thick along the underside.

“You see what you do to me?” He lets go of my throat. “You and that filthy mouth of yours.”

“It’s gorgeous,” I rasp, stroking him slowly from base to tip. “So fucking big.”

He swats my hand away, grips the base of his cock, and points it right at my face. Close enough to feel the heat coming off it, close enough to smell the musk of him, the leftover tang of my own spit.

I open my mouth on instinct, tongue out.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, pulling back just enough. “Just look. Don’t touch.”

It takes everything I have to close my mouth. All I want is to taste him again, to feel the weight of him on my tongue, to swallow down whatever he gives me. But he’s in charge. And I’ll do whatever he wants. So I sit there, hands flat on the seat, staring at the swollen head glistening with precum inches from my lips.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” he murmurs, twisting his wrist so the fat head slides along my cheek, leaving a wet, sticky trail. “For me to fuck your face again?”

I let out a desperate whine, nodding against the seat.

“You’re not getting it that easy.” He smears the wetness over my lips, and I have to fight the urge to dart my tongue out for a taste. “You want my cock, you have to earn it, Ryan.”

“Please,” I beg. “Anything.”

“Anything?” He taps the head of his cock against my bottom lip. “God, you’re desperate. I bet your hole is twitching right now, isn’t it? Wishing this was inside you?”

“Yes,” I gasp. He has no idea. Every nerve in me is screaming for it.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he says, tucking himself back into his jeans. “You’re gonna walk into that gas station, buy a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. Extra large. Look the cashier dead in the eye when you buy them. Then you’re gonna walk across that lot to the motel and get us a room. One bed. Andwhen I walk through the door, you better be on it. Naked. Am I clear?”

I grin up at him. “Crystal.”

He climbs off me and gets out of the truck. The door slams shut. I watch him walk toward the far end of the lot, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared. The bulge in his jeans is obscene.

It takes me a second to pull myself together. My heart is still jackhammering against my ribs. I know how this ends. Once his car is fixed, he’s gone. And I’ll be alone in this truck again, feeling worse than before.

But fuck it. If this is all I get, I’m taking it. This guy has me so twisted up I can’t think straight. I’m already addicted. To the look in his eyes. The sound of his voice. The taste of his skin.

I take a breath, get out, and walk toward the gas station.

7

DOMINIC

Inever allowed myself to be this reckless. This rough. Maybe it was always there, simmering under the surface, waiting for someone like Ryan to drag it out of me. Someone who doesn’t just let me take control, but begs for it.

Everything with Megan was planned. Safe. We dated for two years, lived together for one. She wanted a ring, a wedding, a mortgage on a beige house in the suburbs. I was supposed to provide all that. The steady job, the stable future.

And while I was busy working, saving, planning, she was getting her chakras aligned by some man-bunned dude who smelled like patchouli and oat milk.

I kick a loose stone across the asphalt. It skitters into the tall grass and disappears. The anger is still there, a hot coal in my gut. But now there’s something else, too. A thrill. A dark excitement I’ve never tapped into before.

Standing at the edge of the parking lot with the highway droning in the distance, I feel ten feet tall. My pulse is pounding. I’m still hard, and I already came once today. All because of this guy. This stranger with the silver eyes and the filthy mouth whogot on his knees for me in a rest stop bathroom and made me feel like a goddamn king.

I watch Ryan come out of the gas station, a plastic bag in hand. He doesn’t look at me. He just walks across the lot with that easy swagger, his T-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned lower back, then disappears into the motel lobby.